


what the crap it's 4 am

by petrifie



Category: Entry Point (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Definitely OOC, Hurt/Comfort, Late Night Conversations, Morally Conflicted Freelancer, Multi, Oneshot, Other, POV Second Person, Pre-Relationship, Roblox - Freeform, based concept asf, can be read as platonic, cringe asf, half of this is just headcanons LMAO ! !, i want to feel the sweet release of death but God won't let me, no beta we die like HALF THE CHARACTERS IN THIS GAME, undisclosed freelancer gender, why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:07:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29650395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petrifie/pseuds/petrifie
Summary: rose comforts you (or like the freelancer or smth bro idk) after a recent mission results in unnecessary casualties
Relationships: Rose (Entry Point)/Reader, Rose (Entry Point)/The Freelancer (Entry Point)
Kudos: 4





	what the crap it's 4 am

**Author's Note:**

> o lord in heaven,  
> why was i given the ability to create content for a roblox game. i pray i forget that i wrote this. anyways haha i wrote this after getting garbo grades on several essays because my writing is also, consequentially, garbo
> 
> i would really appreciate it if you lied to me and left a nice comment/kudos

You stare at your knees. It’s been hours, possibly days at this point, and you’ve taken so many showers and used so many towels and it’s all clean now, but for some reason, or no reason at all, your eyes can’t stop seeing the blood pool at your feet.

At this point, without at doubt, it has been days.

It has been days since you’ve slept.

It’s not your fault. This is your job. This was your decision, and if you regret it, you are the one that has to live with the consequences.

It’s not your fault.

It’s not your fault that stupid, naïve little child, the one with their parents in the other room right next to the one you invaded with your shallow prospect of payment in mind, the child with yellow shoes now stained red decided _yes, I need to see my parents at this exact moment in time when the big, scary bad person with the gun had pulled the trigger, aiming at the nice officer right behind me. Yes, I should run to my parents right now._

Like you said, it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. It’s not—

“Why the hell is your light still on? I thought it was way past your wussy widdle baby bedtime,” says the lighthearted voice behind your door, her knocking (that really more resembles banging) causing you to flinch.

You don’t respond. She comes in anyways, and despite your blurred vision, you know it’s her. No one else you knew acted like that, no one else looked like she did. And she doesn’t look...bad, despite her blatant sleep deprivation taking appearance in the form of dark circles under her eyes. It doesn’t look like she’s been sleeping well, either...

She takes a look at you. You’re obviously disheveled.

“Oh. Wait, are you...it...oh. I’m, um, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, really. Don’t worry about it.” You wipe away at your face (though you’re sure there were never any tears in the first place. Why did you wipe your dry face?) and force an uncharacteristically polite smile. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping, that’s all.”

She grimaces slightly. “That’s all? Man, I’m sorry, but you look absolutely wasted. C’mon, lemme help you out.”

You scoot aside on the edge of your bed as she fills in the empty space beside you, close enough for your knees and shoulders to make contact. The mattress springs a bit under the added pressure.

“What’s wrong?” she asks. Her gaze is gentle, but you can’t tell if it’s genuine.

You sit silently for a moment, pondering if it’s even worth talking about. It’s just one casualty. Just one. No one cares except you. She’s got more experience in this field anyways, and you don’t want to look weak or vulnerable, especially in front of her.

“Don’t worry. I won’t think you’re like, weak or something stupid. But, I mean, looks like something’s bothering you, so if you wanna talk about it, like, I mean, now’s your chance.”

You sigh. “Ah. It’s nothing. Really. It’s just...that thing that happened during the mission the other day won’t leave my mind. I was just thinking about it.”

“Pfft. Yeah. You definitely seem like you’ve been thinking about it _a lot_. Just spill. If you wanna.”

The night continues, with you rambling on, and on, and on, and on about what happened, what you did, with a lot more of you choking out sobs, holding onto your knees and her awkwardly cradling you like a small child than you deemed necessary (but still appreciated.)

“Yeah. That’s what happened. I know—I know I should’ve gone to bed by now, but—”

“Don’t worry about it. Look, I remember something...something like that, too. I couldn’t sleep either. Honestly, man, for a normal person in a normal society, I wouldn’t expect anyone to be able to sleep after that.”  
  


“It’s not my first time. It—It’s dumb. I don’t—I don’t know why I can’t—”

“Just relax,” she holds you, tighter than before, and you let out more tears. A part of you almost wonders how she’s not grossed out by all the fluids coming out of your face, and then you remember that she’s probably seen a lot worse.

However, your wallowing in self-pity and grief cannot last forever, and you eventually enter a state more peaceful than when you started (just like always, it’s probably because she was there holding you while you get snot on her jacket. She says she’s gotten worse on her clothes.)

5:53 A.M. That’s what your watch says as the two of you check the time, almost in tandem.   
  


You both look at each other. Her face distorts into a gremlin-like grin. It’s very enjoyable to look at, but you still have to avert your gaze and fight down the small smile that almost forms on your own face.

“Ha, definitely not my first all-nighter. At least it was like, useful. You feeling any better now?”

A chuckle escapes your mouth. “Yeah, I...think so. I’m still probably gonna feel terrible unless I confess to a priest or something, but yes. I feel better than before. Thank you.”

“Hey, we obviously made some progress! You’re even joking again!”

The both of you laugh. Her laugh is enjoyable to hear, too.

**Author's Note:**

> im sorry you had to read that asf🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪


End file.
